The Little Street-sweeper

Look at that little girl sweeping the crossing;

See how the mud her bare legs is embossing!

And her feet are so slippered with mud, that it seems

As though from the ground she grew up 'mongst the teams;

And why she's not run over surely's a wonder,

Standing there sweeping, the horses' feet under.

See her close curls and her bright, beaming eye;

Though fearless, the glance, you perceive, is ha f shy,

As so lightly she swings her wet broom, and so true,--

Let us cross, and we'll give her a penny or two.



But wait, now a passer-by hands her a penny;

Just see her bright glance twinkle over to Benny,

The little hunchback sitting there on the curb-stone,

Close up to the lamp-post, that he may disturb none.

His crutches beside him a sorry tale tell;

But see, he's a basket of knick-nacks to sell;

And a lady has bought for her child a toy whip,

And now from her port-monaie gives him the scrip,

But refuses the change,--and with tears in his eyes,

He thanks her and blesses, with grateful surprise;--

And the glance the boy now flashes over to Jenny,

Is as bright as she gave him when she got the penny.

O, I've seen them so many times! always together,

Always happy and cheery, in bright or dull weather;

For though he makes the most when it's fair, as they show me,

Yet she does the best when it's muddy and stormy.



Watch, now, her quick smile of such pleased recognition:--

To win it I oft come this way on my mission.

But see, she draws back as I offer the penny,

And modestly says, "Madam, please keep the money,

For you know 'tis a pleasure to me to be sweeping

The path for you, lady;" and, all the time keeping

Her broom just before us to brush the least speck,

The sweet smiles in her eyes her whole being bedeck.

So I keep it, for she has as good claim as I

To the right to do favors and none will deny

That "It is more blessed to give than receive,"

And her sweep is far more than my pennies to give.

But we'll stop and see Benny, and make it up there,

For in all that each gets they will both have a share.

A nice little bib for my baby at home,--

A patent tape-measure, a mother-pearl comb;

And Benny's pale face lightens up with a glow

Such as angels rejoice in;--now, Maud, we must go.

But to Benny: "I'm thinking to-night I may come

And bring my friend with me, to see your new home."

"O, if you will!" says the child with delight

Rippling over his face like a sunbeam--and quite

As joyously, Jenny: "O, madam, please do,

For we've something at home that we want to show you!"



So when 'tis near night-fall we take the short car

That off through West Fourth Street goes winding afar,

And away to the Hudson, almost, we shall find

A lone-seeming tenement cuddled behind

Huge heaps of fresh lumber so piney and sweet,

While everything round there is charmingly neat.--

Yes, the children are home and as gay as a lark,

While the good mother greets us with pleasure;--but hark!

A baby-cry comes from the bedroom beyond,

And Jenny brings forth a sweet, sunny-haired blonde,

Saying: "This is the something we wanted to show you,

This two-years-old baby-girl--why, does she know you?

She holds out her hands to go to you so soon!"

"Ah! she feels we are friendly;--hear now her soft croon.

But how came she here, child?" "We found her just over

The lumber-yard fence, with a board for a cover,

Wrapped up in a blanket marked Bertha." "But why

Do you not to the charity mission apply?"

"O, we want her ourselves! And the good Lord, through you,

Has given us this home, so what else should we do,

Than to keep what He sends? And we're sure He sent Berty,

In place of our baby that died, little Myrtie!"



And here these poor people, so poor they were starving

When I found them a few months ago, were now halving

Their food and their home with this waif and with Benny--

For he was an orphan child left by his granny,

Who died in an attic just over their room,

In the tumble-down house they before-time called home;

Though they've four of their own, and the eldest is Jenny,

The little street-sweep who would not take the penny,

Yet they say, "Benny seems quite as much to belong here,

And be one of our children, as if he were born here."



O, how many rich homes where no child is given,

Might be made, for poor orphans, an opening to Heaven!

And how many, poorer, might seem to be rich,

With a benny or Bertha to fill up the niche

That is left 'neath the hundreds of home-roofs all over.

Which the Lord has designed some poor orphan shall cover;

For He makes His home where His children are moored,--

And brings in His wealth where they live by His word;

And the meal and the oil there shall never be spent;--

What we give to the poor, to the Lord we have lent.

A baby to feed, is a baby to love,

A child in the house, "a well-spring" from above,--

And never forsaken, and ne'er begging bread,

Shall be those who take care that His lambs are well fed.